Cat and Cave
by Ninnik Nishukan
Summary: By 2009, you'd think that if Drakken and Shego still hadn't taken over the world, at least they'd managed to start up a proper relationship. You'd be wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE**

* * *

He'd suspected it for a while, in a half-conscious, preoccupied kind of way. So he supposed it wasn't exactly a shock, but she'd cemented it when she'd tossed her hair one afternoon, actually laughing at one of his jokes (not that he'd entirely intended to make one, but still). It had made him realize, with queasy horror, that he'd been desperate to get the same reaction out of her again.

Then there was the fact that he'd gone crazy wondering what she'd been up to during her Attitudinated week of absence. And that hadn't even been her, but some brainwashed pod person version of her! She'd even set their hounds on the guy who'd shown up at the lair, the guy the pod person had been dating! So he shouldn't care! He shouldn't be giving it a single thought!

But he was.

He'd started missing her during the weekends, quite consciously, and more often than he'd ever done. He'd started looking at her when she was there, in ways that were probably inappropriate (not that she'd noticed, so far).

No! Why did it have to be _her_? It was unfair! Wrong! She'd skin him alive! Scratch him up with rabies-infected claws!

Make him bleed green.

Who'd decided this? It certainly hadn't been him! Why couldn't DNAmy just have said yes that one time, so he'd be far away somewhere, making science babies? But no, she'd just ripped out his heart and stomped on it, just like Shego was going to do! If he wasn't even good enough for DNAmy, who was considered a catch by no one but himself (and mostly when he'd been high on adrenaline and grateful for the life-saving) then he certainly wasn't good enough for Shego.

And especially not now. He was gradually turning into some sort of moody cave troll, eating too much— cupcakes, cupcakes, cupcakes, no, she hadn't liked it when he'd packed on the pounds with Hank's leftover stock— not shaving often enough, not necessarily showering every single day— he still brushed his teeth twice a day and flossed before bedtime, though, because dental hygiene was important—

Not to mention grumbling, growling and snapping his way through life.

More than usual, that was.

He felt sorry for himself, and he knew it.

Cave trolls were always at their most disgusting when they were trying to attract a difficult mate. Unfortunately, only cave trolls knew this. To everyone else, it just looked gross and misguided. Especially to cats, who were always clean, cool and composed.

He glared across the room at her, grooming herself without a care in the world.

It was clear that he wasn't her type.

Whenever he even considered making an attempt, his gut would boil and his face would break into a cold sweat. The only way to hide these things was to refuse to acknowledge his feelings. To tell himself that this was a workplace, and that he had far too much to do, and that she wasn't so great anyway. And once, when he couldn't come up with a villainous plan to keep them occupied, to turn to another method of ignoring her; devoting himself to getting all the floors in his lair refinished.

Most of the time, these methods worked. Sometimes, though, there had to be relief.

One day, when he believed he was all alone in his cavernous laboratory, he decided to blow off some steam. "STOP IT! THIS IS A WASTE OF TIME! I'm _tired_ of flop sweat and clammy hands!" he declared to the world, at least having the satisfaction of his own voice echoing back, empathizing with his frustrations. "I'm tired of feeling nauseous! I swear there's a sack full of wild cats in my belly!"

"What, did you eat a whole bag of bran muffins again or something?"

There she was, leaning on the back wall, eating an apple…mocking him.

Of course she was.

The only fortunate thing about her lippyness was that her apparent desire to keep up a running commentary on everything he did and said had interrupted him before he'd actually revealed anything.

"SHEGO!" he scolded, and then he went into a raging tirade that even he tuned out. When he stormed off he had no idea what he'd just said, only that he was still making noises, despite no longer having an audience.

His body boiled with anger as his legs took him far away. Being furious was the only way to have even a tiny chance at ignoring the bottomless pit of hopeless grief that waited for him, under the thin veneer of offended irritation. Even so, he found the anger came easy.

This was pointless, this was meaningless, this was unfair, unfair, unfair! Why did it have to happen to him? Only bad things would come of it!

The worst thing was knowing that they _would_ come, that they were inevitable, that it was only a matter of time. She'd figure it out eventually, or he'd slip up.

There was no way anything _else_ than pain _could_ come of it. She was all he had.

* * *

He'd— they'd— saved the world.

Nobody had seen it coming, least of all them. Shego enjoyed being surprised. Having Kimmie show up or another plan fail was never a surprise, just another disappointment.

Now they were finally home again, after a lot of attention from family, other villains, various scientists and the media.

Drakken looked flustered and tired, but happy, so she decided to surf the good mood. He'd impressed her. Made her think things could actually change, made her reconsider old ideas and wishes that she'd shelved a dozen times before, without him ever knowing.

She leaned towards him, and drew a quick, soft breath of anticipation and nerves, but then he leaned back, his expression full of the same strange, almost irritated confusion she'd seen when he'd decided to back out of their impending embrace on the Lorwardian spaceship.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and she couldn't quite read his voice, couldn't tell what he wanted.

Hesitation fluttered through her for a second, but then her arms dropped to her sides, and she shook her head. "Nothing at all," she said almost neutrally, a sort of disgusted resignation starting to pour into her. So he was ruining everything before anything had even attempted to begin, huh?

"Shego—"

"This isn't going to work," she said simply. She had to have been crazy to even try. No wonder she'd always thought _nope, never gonna happen_ in the past.

"What isn't going to work?" His tone went sharp. "What are you talking about?"

So he didn't even have a clue, huh? He was only making it worse.

"Exactly," she said, picking an invisible speck of lint off of her dress as she got up. Maybe it was better this way. Now she could just pretend the thought had never even entered her mind, because_ he_ sure wasn't aware of what had almost happened.

"What do you mean, 'exactly'? Where are you going?"

"I'm tired. Good night."

"Hey, wait— what just happened?"

She didn't wait. Nothing had happened.

She also didn't hear the next echoing scream, occurring much later. She was already asleep.

"WHAT JUST HAPPENED?"

* * *

She stayed away for a few days before appearing in the lair again.

The next time they met, she only called him 'Dr. Drakken' (when she called him anything at all), but he didn't really consider it.

It took another two weeks for the change to sink in. When it had, the marked absence of any 'Doc', 'Dr. D', 'Chief' or even any 'Sport' grew to be an ever-present, grating background noise in his mind, like the constant hum of a computer way past its prime.

He couldn't bring himself to ask her about it, though. He had no idea how to phrase the question without sounding ridiculous. Acknowledging the fact that he'd noticed something trivial like that missing in their daily lives would be admitting too much already.

Instead, he tried to feel pleased at how she was finally showing him formality and respect. It didn't work.

* * *

Somehow he'd lost her, even if she was still here.

When he finally pieced together why she was acting so distant, what had almost happened, what he'd missed out on, he wanted to kick himself.

Yet at the same time, he'd still have no idea what to do with the moment even if he'd known how to work his way back to it.

When he finally realized that he'd been so frightened that he'd gone so far as to convince himself it wasn't in fact happening at all, the thought crossed his mind that he should probably see a shrink. But how he'd bungled things up was so painfully embarrassing that he could barely even admit it to himself, let alone pay somebody tall fees to talk about it out loud.

And now she'd showed him that she'd come to her senses. The train had left the station, and by all accounts it hadn't even stopped there for more than a couple of seconds anyway.

He should've treaded more carefully. There had been signs for a long time, even before they saved the world, that she was contemplating a change, that she needed something more, whether she'd been aware of it herself or not. Leaving him in prison, teaming up with other villains, helping Kim Possible just to beat his new alien sidekick, not having anything against saving the world—

It seemed to him that she hadn't known what she'd wanted, and probably still didn't, but when she'd finally begun to figure it out a little, he'd interrupted her, trodden on her tail, made her outright dismiss her already fragile ideas about him, her, and the future.

And here it came. All the destructive force of having these useless feelings.

* * *

When she peered into his bedroom, he was lying on his back on his bed, spread-eagled, dressed in his usual lab gear, but with the collar undone and his thick protective gloves clutched loosely in one hand. His door had been wide open, as if he hoped somebody would stop by. Or maybe he'd just forgotten to close it.

Either way, she went inside. The room was mostly dark, except for the dim glow of his bedside lamp and the light streaming in from the hallway. She sighed; it looked like a possible moping atmosphere.

"What now? Did ya throw your back out again?"

He looked up; he seemed surprised, but not startled. "Hello, Shego," he said, then laid his head down again. "Long time no see."

She simply shrugged; decided not to comment.

"Did you know," he began slowly, "that back in 1998, I stole a bottle of champagne? _Real_ champagne, I mean, not just fizzy party water."

"Uh…Dr. Drakken? You going anywhere with this story?"

"I stole that champagne to celebrate my world domination," he continued, voice turning wistful, "and now it's 2008, and I still haven't opened it. In fact, it's not even the original bottle. I've had to replace it at least twice due to my lairs blowing up all the time."

She tilted her head at him. "So…what? You given up or something?"

He was quiet for a moment before he sighed. "Just saying, that's all. "

She continued to frown at his face; he stared up into the ceiling. "Well…then what's going on? Are we making another attempt?"

For a second, he froze, his face taking on an expression she couldn't quite read. He pushed himself up on his elbows. "Making another attempt at…?" he asked, a timid note in his question.

All of a sudden, her head felt hot, but she managed to merely look annoyed. She was _not _going there. It was pointless. "_Hello_, taking over the _world_?"

There was another stretch of silence, during which he simply stared at her, so many things going on in his eyes that she couldn't catch a single one of them; then his expression went carefully blank.

He cleared his throat gruffly; the sound was almost jarring. "Right. The world."

"Got any ideas?" she asked, uneasy now.

"Uh, no…I've decided my brain and I are taking the day off."

"Dr. Drakken, you didn't even take the day off the time you had that concussion after hitting the train tunnel roof face first."

His brow rose. "Exactly."

"I guess I'll just leave you to your thoughts, then," she mumbled, starting for the door.

"You know, I figured…"

She turned. "Yeah?"

A slow sigh rolled in his throat and nestled somewhere in his chest. "After having saved the world and all…wouldn't it be a waste to try to rule it again?"

Shego spent a long time in the doorway, her face half-obscured by the darkness, just staring at him. In the end, the scrutiny had apparently begun to shake him out of his detached, dreamy state, because he sat up and stared back.

Finally, he cleared his throat again, affecting loud impatience for her answer.

She simply shrugged and walked away.

She didn't know, either.

* * *

So now they were stuck at some kind of mid- to low-level of villainy, knocking over banks, stealing things because they could, scamming a couple of companies just to be able to roll in money (as well as pay for the lairs, the henchmen and the cleaning staff).

It wasn't actually fun, however.

There had been another change. Shego didn't banter with him anymore.

She did, however, banter with everyone else. And with gusto.

When she delivered a particularly zesty zinger to the cheerleader and her blonde boyfriend one Tuesday night, Drakken found himself picking them up with his vines and slamming them against the wall with far more force than necessary. As Shego tied them up, he realized he was gnashing his teeth.

* * *

She couldn't do it anymore. What "it" was, she wasn't sure. Trying to take over the world? Being a full-time villain? Never knowing when she'd be thrown back in prison? Contemplating some sort of relationship with her boss? Or even relating to him at all on a daily or weekly basis?

Whatever it was, she didn't even _want_ to anymore. At some point, the will had just sort of…dropped out of her, trailing behind her like bread crumbs until her pockets were empty. And she didn't want to turn around and retrace her steps. Didn't want to walk that path again.

She was only twenty-eight. Shouldn't _he_ be the one having a mid-life crisis? Shouldn't he be the one who craved change? Was he such a creature of habit? Or did he want change, but was just too much of a doofus to express it? There had been changes, of course, as they were currently not making attempts at global domination, but they didn't feel like changes. It felt like walking in the same circles, only smaller this time. And sure, she'd fought the Lorwardians, and sure, he would've probably been dead if not for her...but the _real_ fallout from that saving-the-world gig? The offers he was still getting from various scientific institutions about his super hypollenator mutagen? They had absolutely nothing to do with her and her career.

She'd intended to quit her job. She'd intended to hand in her resignation.

But then she'd figured that it didn't matter. They worked together so little these days that her old job would hardly interfere with any new projects she'd feel like pursuing. There was no need to quit, really.

She knew she hadn't done enough, but at least she'd done something. She might not have been fair, might not have given him a chance, but even the thought of actually explaining, of actually _admitting_, when he'd been looking at her like that, when she knew he'd handle her offers and her questions with all the grace of a drunken elephant…

Well, the thought made her nauseous, and it was only here, alone in the dark of her bedroom, that she could concede that what had happened had already hurt, and if she'd continued, it would only have hurt more.

She knew it was cowardly, knew she might've tried, but she just couldn't see it, couldn't visualize it turning out right— and not just the first stage, the admittance, but anything at all at this point. And she had no idea what was going on inside his crazy head in any case. How would a relationship even _work_? Wasn't it better to just fade away rather than expose herself and be rejected, either because he didn't want what she might want or because he was too much of a spaz to deal with it?

There was no need for a dramatic exit.

_**To be continued.**_

* * *

**Author's notes: **This story idea had been knocking around on my computer since about 2009/2010. It's meant to be an exploration of the kind of Drakken who couldn't even hug Shego after she'd gone up into space to save him, and the kind of Shego who immediately and awkwardly backed away. I just thought it would be "fun" if they both did absolutely everything wrong. More than usual, I mean.

I tried something slightly different with the writing style this time. Hope it worked out.

**I'd like to give credit to my beta reader on this story, Oldandnewfirm.** Thank you! :) Be sure to check out her wonderful Drakken/Shego illustrations on deviantART.

**Then there was the fact that he'd gone crazy wondering what she'd been up to during her Attitudinated week of absence:** "Stop Team Go", season 4.

**Why couldn't DNAmy just have said yes that one time, so he'd be far away somewhere, making science babies?: **"Partners", season 2.

—**cupcakes, cupcakes, cupcakes, no, she hadn't liked it when he'd packed on the pounds with Hank's leftover stock:** "Odds Man In", season 4.

**And once, when he couldn't come up with a villainous plan to keep them occupied, to turn to another method of ignoring her; devoting himself to getting all the floors in his lair refinished:** See the end tag to the episode "Larry's Birthday", season 4.

"**Dr. Drakken, you didn't even take the day off the time you had that concussion after hitting the train tunnel roof face first.":** "Clean Slate", season 4.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

* * *

This was the first villain convention he'd ever attended without Shego since they'd met.

Every year, they'd been here. Last year, they'd even gone to a separate HenchCo demonstration together.

This year, he was here alone.

She, however, was not.

Villains of every level were swarming around her like Wall Street brokers, shouting their offers with their hands waving in the air.

"Shego! Hey, over here, Shego!"

"Miss Shego, if you can spare just _five_ minutes—"

Small time crooks who wanted to climb the villainous ladder, experienced villains who wanted an advantage against Kim Possible, and the cream of the crop, some of whom probably just wanted to annoy Drakken—

"Fraülein Shego! Let'z talk benefitz! Ve can offer you a much better contract zan zat zilly Dr. Drahken! I know you _muzt_ be doing ze considering of your options now zat he is nicht in ze BIG WORLD DOMINATION LEAGUEZ ANYMORE!"

Okay, that was _it_!

Stalking up to the crowd, Drakken shocked both himself and Dementor by punching Dementor's lights out. Then he proceeded to scatter the rest by snarling and pulling out a small annihilation ray he'd managed to sneak past the understaffed security.

"VULTURES!" he spat after them, so enraged he barely remembered to re-conceal his weapon before he was spotted.

When he spun around to face Shego, she appeared merely bored. Or resigned. He couldn't tell which.

His hand throbbed. He'd been smart enough to hit Dementor's chin, not his metal helmet, but even the man himself wasn't exactly made of marshmallow.

"Have you had these sorts of offers before?" he demanded.

Shego nodded. She may as well have yawned.

"Well, what did you say?"

A shrug. "Eh, I've thought about it."

"_And_?"

Another shrug. "Why bother? It'd just be going from one sidekick gig to another."

Drakken sagged with relief. "Yes! Exactly!"

For a drawn-out moment, she gave him an odd, faraway sort of look, but just when he was about to ask what was the matter, she seemed to snap out of it. "Right. Whatever, I'm gonna go get a soda. Heads up, by the way…I think that security guard might've seen you decking Dementor."

It was only when she'd walked away that he realized the tone she'd used to reply to his questions just didn't sound right.

He was used to her sounding blasé, but this was on a whole new level of carelessness.

Frankly, it reminded him of the time when his mother had asked him whether he wanted to go on to play a team sport or if he wanted to continue in the school band.

He'd basically answered "meh". He'd been fourteen and hadn't cared either way. It hadn't been a matter of which organized group activity to choose, but rather that he was sick of organized group activities in general.

She wasn't just bored with him or restless in an ordinary sort of way, he saw now, she was also disillusioned with the entire business. And he had no idea how to bring about change, neither between them nor in their trade of choice. He feared she didn't know either, even if he'd dared to ask her, which he didn't. The last time, when he'd risked asking her about global domination, it had made things just a little worse. If he brought attention to the lack of change again, to the fact that they might have a reason to fall apart, it might only make it happen faster.

* * *

"What do you want?" he demanded, as she walked into his lair, over a month later. "Where have you been? No, wait, I don't care— TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT! IS IT MORE MONEY? I HAVE MORE MONEY!"

He immediately knew what the trouble was when he saw her face. He wasn't Drakken anymore, but a slobbering, screeching cave troll again. She could hear him, she could see him, but she couldn't understand anything he was saying. It was cave troll language, loud and angry and thunderous. He'd stopped using words. Vines were sprouting from his back like tails. Troll tails.

She wasn't Shego anymore, either. Because the normal Shego might've fired a blast or two at him if he started barking at her like that the second she stepped foot inside. No, she was a stray cat pretending to be a tame cat, a stray cat that could take care of itself and only wandered into its owner's house when it was cold outside and the world was low on mice (goodness forbid it could be because she needed a warm lap).

And stray cats couldn't hold a sensible conversation with cave trolls. They didn't speak the same language. And the cat could tell that the cave troll had worked itself up into a frenzy alone while the cat was gone; that it was perhaps about to cry. Cats didn't like crying at the best of times, but when it was a cave troll doing it, well…then it definitely wouldn't be pretty.

"I'll…come back later," she muttered, slinking out the door, silently and softly, as if it was indeed a cat flap.

She didn't return. Cats couldn't hold their promises, and in any case, cave trolls deserved none.

* * *

Dr. Drakken stood outside in the driving rain, drenched, but strangely imposing as his tall, broad figure nearly blocked her doorway. All he needed to make the cheesy thriller movie image complete was a flash of lightning illuminating the dark night and throwing his scarred face into sharp relief, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes. Instead, he was illuminated by the soft light from the antique lamp on her hallway dresser.

It couldn't be an emergency, she reasoned, or surely he'd have been hugging her knees and wailing already.

"Did you break the toaster?" he asked then, and she blinked at him, her brows knitting.

What threw her wasn't just the fact that he was there in the middle of the night or the fact that she hadn't even given him this address. For a moment, she thought he'd actually said something completely different, as if this was a film where the subtitles and the dialogue didn't match up. His body language and his voice, not to mention the lateness of the hour, didn't synchronize with the simple question. All kinds of other questions seemed to lurk inside him.

"I barely even _eat_ toast," she blurted out, "and besides, I haven't even been to the lair in—"

"Five weeks."

"Exactly," she said, still staring.

He wiped his wet face irritably with his sleeve, in the relatively dry crook of his elbow. "I have a job for you. We _do_ still have a contract, right?"

"_Hello_ to the missing segue," she muttered. "And you're telling me this at three am…_why_?"

This seemed to give him pause, finally. "What are you talking about? It's only—" He checked his watch before glancing at her with a defensive frown. "Three fourteen am. Right."

She groaned; the body clock was obviously the first thing that went bye bye when you got into mad science (at least without anybody to keep you in check). She wanted to yell at him that she had to get up early, but at this stage in the development, that would be giving away too much. Her secrets were never his, even back then. "How did you even _get _this address?" she demanded, pulling her robe tighter around her body.

His brow rose. "You've been working with me for all these years and you need to ask how or if I can get a hold of information?"

She pursed her lips, deciding to change gears. "What do you want?"

The words echoed across a yawning gap of five weeks.

_What do you want? Where have you been?_

Suddenly, he couldn't speak. Suddenly, his plans were trickling out his ears, dripping down his shoulders with the rest of the rainwater.

Only now did he notice that her hair was tousled, her eyes bleary; the usually perfectly groomed cat disturbed from its nap.

It occurred to him he'd barely slept the last two or three days. Which was probably why he'd stumbled heedlessly along to her place, all the way on the other side of town, completely forgetting that they were a cave troll and a cat.

He had a job for her? Really? How could there still be work left to be done, together?

He turned, poised to walk away in a daze, when her hand touched his arm. Small, strong.

"Dr. D…are you okay?"

He must be a cave troll, he decided, because he'd turned to stone, pierced by the sun.

When she turned him around, slowly, tears were actually streaming down his face. He blinked rapidly at her, drawing a shivering breath.

For a second, she looked almost as flabbergasted; then she gave an explosive sigh. "Come on, Dr. D— get a _grip_, will ya?"

At this, he uttered only a choked little grunt.

"What _now_?"

Shaking his head in vehement, embarrassed dismissal, he flapped a hand at her as he turned and practically jogged back into the rain.

She hadn't called him 'Dr. D' in _months_.

* * *

She came back, for a few days or so. Stole some things for him, shook the increasingly complacent henchmen up a bit. Listened to him rant. Didn't say much, and he didn't ask any questions.

He wanted to ask her what her angle was, why she was back, being what could only be described as almost helpful. He even wanted to ask her if maybe she wasn't wearing some sort of behavior modification device, but he didn't want to remind either of them of the Moodulator incident ever again. Especially not now. He also wasn't keen on a quick trip to the burn ward.

She spoke less than usual, just kind of hovered, was just kind of _there_. As if she was testing the waters. As if he, and his lair, were a new dress and a new pair of heels that she was trying on for size, that she was trying to figure out if she could afford because they were from a fancy store. Or not really _afford_, as she always had plenty of money. No, maybe the store was in fact not fancy _enough_, maybe the dress and heels were a big fashion risk. So rather, she wanted to find out whether she'd be wasting her money.

When her three-day trial was up, she left again.

No sale.

It occurred to him that he should've been pushier, that he should've given her the discount card, told her all the benefits, told her she looked great in it, and that it went with everything— instead, he'd just stood there, grumpy and jaded, a terrible example of customer service. He'd been working there for too long, spoiled by years of taking things for granted.

He couldn't take action. Well, what did she expect, anyway? He wasn't the— the _action-person_, he was the _thinker_! Action was what he hired _her_ for!

Except, how true was that? Hadn't he been there, right along with her, right in the middle of all the fighting and the explosions? And hadn't she always tried to butt into his thinking with her common sense?

Still! She'd had every chance for three whole days, so why couldn't _she_ have said something, if she was supposed to be so _tough_? Why was it _his_ job, all of a sudden? Why couldn't _she_ have said something, if she really wanted— whatever it was, if she wanted— right, because she still— didn't she?

No, she'd done her part in this new, yet already half-dead thing between them. It hadn't been much, and it had been cowardly and hard to understand, but at least it had been _something_. And she'd kept returning.

_He _had done nothing.

When she'd been here this time, she'd felt like a visitor, like she didn't live here anymore. A visitor waiting for something. And he'd done nothing, and now it might already be too late. She might be done with returning.

* * *

Early one morning, when he'd stayed up all night working on improving his super hypollenator mutagen for the government in case of another alien invasion (for a generous sum, of course), he switched the television on for company as he ate his breakfast.

A commercial blared, making him wince. He was about to change the channel when something about the colour scheme of the ad caught his interest.

"Is this _you_? Are super heroes, spies, government agents and so-called freelance justice fighters always getting past your security? Are your relatives stopping by uninvited? Are other super villains always stealing from you and getting away with it? Then contact SheCo! Our henchpeople are trained in weaponry, high-tech security systems and hand-to-hand combat— that's sixteen styles of kung fu, not just your old-fashioned fist fighting! But that's not all! The best part is that they're highly trained to improvise and think for themselves! We guarantee that these are not the Neanderthals you're used to dealing with! But don't worry, that doesn't mean they won't listen to their evil masters! They're all professionals! Call SheCo today, and your henchmen and henchwomen— that's right, we're _equal opportunity_, unlike _some_— won't ever be fooled by silly disguises or fake ID's again! We promise you won't have to give vigilantes in the ventilation system another thought! And hey, wanna go after your enemies? Our henchpeople are always ready to travel!"

This upbeat message, accompanied by demonstrative, zippy images, was followed by a screen covered in contact information, a black and green SheCo logo, and as a small picture of the confidently smirking company founder.

This was it, his sleep-deprived brain told him, she was disappearing.

There still had to be hope, though. After all, she hadn't worked for somebody else or spent all her time with some hipster Fabio. In the time between then and now, she'd built herself a tiny empire. She'd brought about change all on her own.

Without informing him.

She'd finally left him, and she hadn't kept him in the loop despite the fact that he was technically still her employer. Considering he was a villain, Drakken supposed he should want revenge on her.

He didn't. Some would probably say he'd gone soft, but if they did, he had a piranha pit with their names on it. He didn't care. He just wanted her around again.

And whether he liked it or not, he had to move. Now.

So that was how he found himself on some middle floor in her office building. He'd scammed his way through security using any number of fake ID's and phony appointment excuses. And then, to get on the other side of the last door, he'd used his plants to force his way through. It hadn't even occurred to him to call her up and arrange a meeting. Super villains didn't do that, and certainly not sleep-starved cave trolls (and perhaps some vengeful, wounded part of him had wanted to show her he wasn't so predictable).

And now here he was, faced by rows of chairs occupied by people in business suits, and there…her, at the head, leading, still wearing all green and black, but in a completely different style than usual. Her hair, which had always been big, had now been tamed, swept away from her face and pinned up. She looked mature, untouchable.

She seemed so far away, at the other end of that long meeting room table, that he had the urge to call out for her. Like the good old days, when he needed her to save him from mortal peril, or at least a reasonable amount of pain.

"SHEGO! I LOVE YOU!"

And there it was, his full transition into a cave troll. And he hadn't even brought his club.

Judging by the crowd, they probably thought he'd had a large helping of liquid courage for lunch or something. It _was_ lunchtime, right? It was hard to keep track of time these days.

"H-how— HOW THE HELL DARE YOU?" she exploded, sounding hurt, shocked, intimidated and enraged all at the same time. Nothing like herself.

"…what?" The cave troll was slow and couldn't make an excuse; tell her it had only meant to bellow her name. The flowers on the end of his vines wilted; he sensed the plants retract, go into hiding.

"How can you just show up, here, now, in the middle of a meeting, after nearly two frickin' _years_, and expect— what's _wrong_ with you?"

He spluttered. "Two years? What are you even—"

Again, the troll turned to stone. Had it been nearly two years? Frantically, his mind began adding all the little breaks and gaps together, a few days here, a few weeks there, a couple of months and— no matter how he looked at it, he refused to believe it, couldn't comprehend this reality—

The expensive-looking calendar on the wall told him otherwise. It was already 2009. Nearly summer. Later this year, she was turning thirty.

Lost in his own cave, he'd somehow managed to stay away for months this time.

"I mean, not to mention I'm already dating somebody now!" she informed him, pushing him further into the real world.

His stomach dropped. "You're— _who_?"

Her tiny, green fist slammed down on the mahogany table top. "None of your business!"

And he realized that no, maybe it wasn't anymore. If it ever even had been. Nearly two years had passed since they'd started falling apart, since she'd attempted…_something_, and he'd ruined it. It wasn't his place.

He left before security could throw him out. With shattered legs, the cave troll dragged himself home on his belly, crushing bugs and flowers on its way. Cursing everything and himself most of all.

_**To be concluded.**_

* * *

**Author's notes: **Coulda, shoulda, woulda…he coulda said it _that_ time, she coulda said it that _other_ time, but they didn't, and so on and so forth…

**Last year, they'd even gone to a separate HenchCo demonstration together:** "Grande Size Me", season 4.


End file.
